


Missing

by Scriboo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, Kidnapping, Mycroft's Umbrella, Post-His Last Vow, Revenge, Russia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1424890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scriboo/pseuds/Scriboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty is back - or is he? There is a new case for Sherlock and his friends, and one that is not so easily solved. And above all, there is this question that is nagging at their minds: where is Molly Hooper?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Midnight Black Umbrella

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! My friend and I decided to try our best at writing Sherlock fanfiction. It's the first for us and we hope you'll like it :)
> 
> And we have a little request :) If you have a minute please fill in a survey we are conducting about Sherlock. Here is the link: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1vmJVbAj_GlqpwixFziBRyboouR_8Of4JqkjtKTprqPk/viewform
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and translation of Russian dialogues is at the end of Chapter ;)

It simply wasn't possible.

“It doesn't make any sense!” If it was only possible in close confinement of the car, John Watson would have certainly started pacing around with disbelief coursing through him.

“I thought Sherlock saw his his brain on the ground. You know how the brain looks, for God's sake!” Mary threw in.

“Well, of course I know. I have lots of it in the jars. It looks pretty adorable among the vegetables” said, Sherlock.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Sherlock! Focus, unless you wish to be back on the plane.” He checked his phone, his eyes telling nothing. “After all, there is England to be saved. Again.”

“Yes, well, it's all in the day's work for you, isn't it?” asked Mary.

“I'm afraid, Mrs. Watson, that this situation is a tad more precarious than that.”

John hit the heading with open palm. “Come on, Mycroft! You are the British bloody government as I was told. You must have known something like this was going to happen!”

Sherlock sent him a quick look. “But he did, didn't he? Look at his umbrella.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, but Mary was the first to throw the question in the air. “His what?”

“His umbrella, come on, Mary, I know for a fact that you have no trouble with hearing.” Sherlock moved his eyes to his brother. “You always have this particular umbrella when you want something from me.”

“Is that so? All my umbrellas are just the same, plain elegant black.”

“Oh please... It's your characteristic sign. Of course they are not all the same. It's the specific shade. All the angsty vampire-obsessed teenagers use the exact shade to dye their hair when they are depressed. Midnight black, was it?”

Mycroft turned his head to the left, not bothering himself with an answer.

“Is that so?” asked John incredulously. “You knew this whole time, Mycroft?”

“Not... exactly.” 

Everybody waited for the eldest Holmes to finish his sentence but to no avail.

“Excuse me, sweeties, but I think we have a situation here. Not to draw you from your umbrella problem, but we have some serious business to attend to.” Mary looked all the men in the eyes. “Someone is back, we don't know who just yet, but judging by Moriarty's face all over the country, this has something to do with him. Therefore it has something to do with us. Did any of you think about protection, maybe...?”

Sherlock blinked twice. “Oh. Yes, that would be logical course of action.”

Mycroft was already reaching for his phone, when John started counting aloud. “Greg, Mrs. Hudson, your parents... Am I missing anyone?”

Sherlock closed his palm into a fist. “Molly.”

***

About 2 years ago, somewhere in Northern Russia.

Two guards were making their way down the corridor. The sound of their steps was the only thing that was echoing through the empty halls. Only one cell to go. They reached the door with faint light shining from the gap by the floor.

One of them searched for the right key form the whole bunch of them he had by his hip.

“Bystro, Sasha, ya khochu zakonchit' eto. Moya podruga zhdet s uzhinom.”

“Khorosho, ya nashel eto.” He finally pushed a key into the hole.

The door stood open and they absorbed the view in front of them.

“Chto von'!”

The awful stink was permeating the air. The man was laying on the bench by the opposite wall, his arms thrown to the sides and face set into horrible grimace.

“Chert poberi, on mertv. My dolzhny pozvolit' boss znayet, on zakhochet, chtoby uvedomit' anglichan...“

And so they moved further into the cell.

***

Molly Hooper stood still as statue, watching TV with horror coursing through her veins. She instantly realized she wasn't safe at Barts, she wasn't safe anywhere. Whoever that was, must have known she was the one to help him. To help Sherlock.

She nervously swallowed and turned around to gather her things. Hurriedly she pushed the tools back on their places, the horrible voice still ringing in her ears. Did you miss me? 

She threw the papers to the drawer. All this work would have to wait. She took of her lab coat and just dropped it at her desk.

And then, the light went out.

Molly bit back a scream. She stood still, catching big breaths. Don't panic Hooper, she told herself. And then she felt a breath on her neck.

“Did you miss him?” asked deep, hoarse voice.

Molly screamed.


	2. Looking in the Right Places

John thought that something certainly wasn't right. It felt slightly off to be sitting and drinking afternoon tea while the world was beginning to end. Well, not literally, but John had this hunch that things were going to start getting worse and worse with every passing hour.

He looked at every person sat behind the kitchen table in 221B Baker Street, trying to come up with something to say, anything at all. Looking at Mycroft impassive face, or Sherlock's excited one, you would think that nothing out of ordinary was happening. Except that it was, seeing as it was one of the first times John had ever seen two Holmes brothers sitting peacefully side by side.

“Well. If it is not overly inconvenient to you, oh brother dear, maybe you could share with us the names.”

“Names?” repeated John. Perhaps he missed something, but he was fairly sure that Sherlock knew nothing more than the rest of them.

“Of course Dr. Watson, I do not doubt he has a long list of suspect by now.”

John caught his wife's eye. Of course, the Holmes brothers always two steps ahead. Or twenty.

Sherlock shook his head. “It's troublesome. Every thing points to the fact that we missed someone from the Network. And someone high up in the ranks, too. Or maybe not. Perhaps it's someone else. A fan, you could say.”

At that moment, Mycroft looked at his phone and furrowed his brow. “Well dear brother, it seems that your pathologist is not where she is supposed to be.”

Sherlock straightened up in his chair. “Then where is she?”

“You tell me.”

John felt dread going up his spine. It wasn't right. Molly Hooper just wasn't one to randomly disappear. 

“She's supposed to be at work, she's always at work at this time. Why wouldn't she be...? I'm not dead this time.”

“Yet,” muttered Mycroft under his breath.

“You're sparkling with optimism,” said Mary, reaching for her phone and typing in Molly's number.

After few seconds she put her phone down. “The line is dead.”

Everybody fell silent. John looked at his wife, “Great choice of words, honey.”

Mary shrugged helplessly. Then, she looked at Mycroft. “Have your people find her.”

“They can't”, answered Mycroft, “What do you think they were doing for the last three hours?”

Sherlock got up from his chair rapidly, turning his back at the rest of the company. John could see that he was concerned.

“I know what you're thinking John. I'm not.”

John cleared his throat. “Well, you seem so. Anyway, it's not a bad thing!”

“I'm not!” insisted Sherlock. “It's just my deep displeasure with Mycroft's at keeping us safe.”

“At keeping her safe, you mean,” asked Mary, throwing him humorous glance.

“Well, yes. She's part of us, obviously. Anyway, since you are so inept, brother, I will have to call my own cavalry to come and save the day.” As he was saying that, Sherlock already started typing into his phone, no doubt contacting Wiggins.

At that moment, Mycroft's phone rang again. He answered immediately and listened for about a minute and answering with simple, “I'll be there in half an hour.”

Sherlock looked at his brother suspiciously, as he stood up and headed for the door.

“What is it, did you poor little government got sick? Another national crisis that just can't wait?”

Mycroft there him sideways glance. “Keep my up to date. I will join you as soon as I can.” And with that, the eldest Holmes left the apartment.

John looked at his wife, then at Sherlock. “Well, that was unexpected, wasn't it?”

Sherlock seemed to be deep in thought. “Was it really? Maybe not so. Go after him.”

“All right,” said Mary.

“Wait, what?” said John.

“Well, it's obvious honey. If it was important enough to pull him form what is happening right now, then it must have something to do with this. And he probably won't tell us what it was. National security, you know how it gets,” his wife explained to him.

“Right. So we are going to spy on the bloody government. Ingenious.”

“I think so myself,” Sherlock agreed easily.

John rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. So what about you? Why don't you go with us?”

Sherlock's eyes steeled. “I have somewhere else to be.” And with that, he dramatically spoon on his heel and left the room, his coat billowing after him.

As all of them left the apartment, 221 B Baker Street became empty. Or did it?

***

Sherlock always liked Barts. The morgue was nice, there was a microscope, dead bodies... And Molly. Except that, this time, she wasn't there.

What was there, on the other hand, was telling quite a story. Tools, usually handled with care, now were thrown carelessly into a drawer, obviously, sign of hurry. The question was if she was on hurry because she was aware of being in danger, or did someone make it seems so.

The lab coat – over a chair. Hurry, hurry, hurry.

Personal items all over the desk, some pens, lunch box, lipstick – and Sherlock thought she was done with this nonsense, her lips were just fine the way they were – and still, in all this chaos, there was a kind of order that pointed to Molly being one to leave everything behind like that.

And yet, Sherlock couldn't be sure if she did it and whether she managed to leave Barts – or not.

***

Molly slowly opened her eyes.

Oh god, what a terrible dream she had...

Except that when her eyes adjusted to half darkness enfolding the room, she noticed the unknown surroundings. There weren't any windows, only bare, white walls, small, really shabby looking desk with a matching chair. And a bookcase, with only one book on it. And there was also a bad she was currently laying in. And that's when she started to panic.

It took her few minutes to regain control over her breathing, and when she did, she headed for a book case. If there was a book for her, she was sure it was no accident.

“The Prince”, she muttered, looking at the old but elegant cover. Well, that certainly was going to get her thinking.

And when she opened it, on the first page she found written with flourish: “Dear Molly, I hope you will not regret sacrificing your time to read this book. Ben”

**Author's Note:**

> *Translations:  
> "Quickly, Sasha, I want to finish this. My girlfriend is waiting up with dinner."  
> "All right, I found it."  
> "What a stink!"  
> "Damn it, he's dead. We need to let the boss know, he will want to notify the British."


End file.
